Unlucky Thirteen
by Little-Ditty-bout-my-OTP
Summary: Mirandy from the POV of Miranda's newest second assistant.


Title: Unlucky Thirteen

Rating: T for language and because I said so.

Disclaimer: I have no rights to any persons real or imagined, no television shows, no books, basically nothing. You want to sue me the best thing I have is a bed, but try to take that and I'll cut a bitch, it's super comfy.

Summary: Mirandy from the POV of Miranda's newest second assistant.

Word Count: 815

Notes: Once Upon a Time readers, I promise I'm working on those stories.

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><p>"Oh, my god," Emily chanted, not for the first time today, nor would it be the last. She looked the girl up and down with a critical eye before rolling her eyes in a plea for patience. "Sherry in HR must really hate me."<p>

The doe eyed _thing_ batted obscenely long eyelashes and smiled sweetly. "She's my sister-in-law."

Pressing two fingers to her temple the redhead repressed the urge to utter a scathing remark, unsuccessfully. "Oh really? Nepotism at its finest," she muttered, turning to walk down the hall. "This is when you follow," the Brit called behind her.

The sound of _sneakers_ resounded against the tiled floors and glass walled offices was cringe inducing. "Three years ago I was given the dubious pleasure of becoming Miranda's first assistant, I love my job. I have had to fill the position of second assistant _thirteen_ times."

The two women were stopped in the hall by a fabulously dressed man with dark rimmed glasses and a clean shaven head. "Unlucky thirteen?" he asked Emily, ignoring the Brit's blonde shadow. At Emily's nod, Nigel looked over the Clacker-in-training appraisingly. "Not a total failure but not Six by any means."

The girl, Carrie, didn't enjoy being talked about as if she were a fern. "I have a name you know; it's Carrie, by the way. I won't respond to a number and I don't care if I ever live up to this magical sixth assistant. I've never been run out, and God knows they've tried before. This won't be any different."

Emily looked nearly apoplectic. The redhead opened her mouth to lay in to this tiny slip of humanity, but Nigel intervened. "You have balls, I can't wait to see what Miranda makes of you. Too bad she's gone," this was said more to Emily.

Crossing her arms the tiny blonde looked at the two of them. "Where is this holier than thou Miranda Priestly, then?" At this Emily looked as if she were about to faint but Nigel sent her away to recover.

"There is a difference between having chutzpah and being disrespectful, learn it and don't bring it in here ever again." He looked over her again. In a nicer tone he explained, "Don't ever take the name Miranda Priestly in vain in this building ever again if you value your life. Unless of course you enjoy being dismembered by stiletto-clad devotees. A million girls would kill for this job, don't waste the opportunity."

"Then talk to me like a person," Carrie pleaded, slightly.

Nigel pursed his lips and broke a half smile. "You might do well here. You won't be meeting Miranda because she is on her way, right now, to Portugal."

"No she's not," Emily's voice floated out of the office, "The twins' flight from Colorado was canceled because of a snowstorm. They're downstairs, Roy just texted. I may very well be sick, this is déjà vu," moaned the redhead.

Nigel took command, bellowing, "Incoming," down the hall. The controlled rush which followed would look manic to the uninitiated. It was not terrible; the month's issue had gone to print in the early hours of the morning and nothing was scheduled that needed rescheduling. Satisfied with the clamor, Nigel led Carrie to her new desk as Emily raced towards the elevator.

Carrie heard the distinct click of three sets of heels coming down the hall. There was also a voice, but the pauses made the blonde think that it was a phone call. That would be Miranda Priestly.

"No I am not working, I am on vacation. Calling to check my messages is not the same thing." Carrie had been prepared for almost anything; anything but that. That was a long pair of legs encased in designer jeans. And the blue shirt, which fell casually over the jeans' waist, was from no one's collection; obviously made just for the wearer.

Nigel's description didn't seem to fit the woman Carrie saw. The blonde hadn't expected someone so pretty or so young. The brunette was tall and thin without being a twig. Carrie knew she was staring, but couldn't help it.

The phone conversation stopped as the group approached the now-filled second assistant's desk. "I will call you back, Greg." Carrie barely noticed Emily and the older woman who paused along with the brunette. "You're new." It was not a question but a statement.

"Yes, Miranda." The dead silence that followed made Carrie wonder which of the Runway Commandments she had broken now. It had to be bad to make Emily look as if she wanted to faint, strangle someone and flee, all at the same time.

But the brunette laughed and the tension evaporated as she and the older woman disappeared in to the office.

Emily groaned and Nigel supplied an answer to Carrie's unasked question. "That was not Miranda. That was Andrea. Her fiancé."


End file.
